


The Story So Far

by been_there_pun_that



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Diary/Journal, F/M, Gen, major spoilers for Unwound Future, spoilers from throughout the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 48
Words: 14,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/been_there_pun_that/pseuds/been_there_pun_that
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Hershel Layton starts writing about his thoughts after the death of his best friend. It's certainly not a daily diary, but he does record the major (and some of the minor) events of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 2nd June, 1947

I can’t sleep. The nightmares. All I can see is my sweaty, grimy hand held out in front of me, gripping Randall’s, and the darkness below him… he tries to pass the mask up to me… his hand slips through mine… he falls into the pit… he doesn’t scream, but I do… Two hours should be enough to live on.

My acceptance letter from Gressenheller came this morning. I had been fearing I was too late in the game to even be considered for this school year as I had not been planning to even leave Stansbury any time soon until just this last week. The letter did mention my tardiness, but they are willing to make an exception because of my grades and recommendations from Kingsbrook. Ma is making my favourite supper for tonight and Pa presented me with this new Sheaffer pen he had bought on his last trip to London for me, but I am just not in the mood to celebrate, even if it is my future we’re celebrating. I feel horrible for bringing this black cloud over the house. They’re being kind about it, though; I am not even receiving a formal punishment, as we can all agree that the walk home was hard enough for me, physically and emotionally. The grief and guilt went without saying.

I haven’t seen Angela since coming home from the Akbadain ruins. I want to say I am not responsible for the death of her boyfriend, but I am. I could have stopped Randall from going on that reckless adventure to discover “the secrets of the Azran civilisation” and I didn’t… Henry is as quiet as ever. I visited the Ascots this afternoon, but I couldn’t stay long... literally: the longer I stayed, the worse I felt. Everywhere I looked I saw Randall; Mr. Ascot’s red hair and Mrs. Ascot’s wire-rimmed glasses didn’t help. I’ve been in bed ever since.

“Discover the truth in seeking the ancient” is Gressenheller’s motto; maybe that could actually happen for me, in discovering myself, or something. Mr. Collins went to Gressenheller and he said the motto almost every day of Basics of Archaeology, but I never really understood it until now. Stansbury doesn’t feel like home any more, even less so than when we first moved here three years ago. As much as I love my little town, I can’t wait for London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of a [tweet](https://twitter.com/HershelLayton/status/10295853520?lang=en) from @HershelLayton, I am setting this fic in the 1940-60s. The Laytonverse is most likely an alternate universe, but I'd like this to be as realistic as possible!
> 
> PS: this hasn't been Brit-picked, but I tried my best. Let me know if you catch anything! :)


	2. 27th September, 1947

Living away from home really isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I mean, of course I miss my parents and everyone in town, but Gressenheller is about as small as Stansbury itself, so it’s less overwhelming than the phrase ‘university in London’ would imply. London is certainly as big as I had always imagined it, but since I’ve not left campus during my first week here, I don’t think I’ll have to face it much during my time at school. And since Gressenheller so small, you don’t have to pay extra for having a dorm to yourself! I wouldn’t have minded a roommate, but I study better in silence. I do have three suitemates, though: Jonathan, Murphy, and Arthur. I haven’t gotten to know any of them yet, but at least they don’t seem too rowdy.

As for my classes, I have English, College Algebra, Physics, and Archaeology 112. I took Mr. Collins’ advice and signed up for one of Dr. Schrader’s classes (Archeology), and I really like it so far. I now see why Randall was so enthralled with archaeology: it’s not just the study of fossils and rocks, but the study of Earth from a cultural view. I’m finally getting used to the haircut Ma had me get; it does have a more scholarly feel than the cumulonimbus style I had been going for did. Also in my quest for scholarship, it’s my goal to stay more organised… so there’s that.

I have yet to hear of or meet anyone here by the name of Randall; there are not even many redheaded students, for that matter, or at least none as red as he was. After all that’s happened, I count these facts as blessings. I try not to think of him, or things that relate to him. This is difficult, seeing as how I am at the archaeology school he had always dreamt of going to, but, as I wrote as part of my admissions exam, “I want to attend Gressenheller University not only because of my budding interest in archaeology, but also in honour of my best friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday. Stay tuned!


	3. 8th February, 1948

Dear diary,

After the wedding rehearsal last night, Clark and Brenda gave me this journal as, to quote Clark as he handed it to me, “a sort of thank-you-for-putting-up-with-this-madness present.” It’s a fine book, bound in a high-quality leatherette with handmade paper **;** it’s so naturally made that it took ten minutes of Clark’s and my nerdy analysis to discover this fact since there was no label with such information.

I’m sure I’ll put it to good use. Keeping a diary (which, for some reason, just sounds more personal than “journaling”) can’t be as bad as I thought it was when I was younger; in fact, it seems to be rather fun now that I’ve started up again. Talking of which, I’ll store that piece of notebook paper I wrote my thoughts on back in ’47 in the cover of my new diary; those thoughts were disorganised and, as a rule, haphazardly written, but they are well worth keeping. Besides that, after a year at uni, my handwriting has certainly changed and will probably continue doing so. I think it will be interesting to compare throughout the entries, especially with my secondary school journal on hand, as well. Studying how I’ve changed as a person by looking at my old handwriting: I’m really sounding like an archaeologist, aren’t I? All that hard work is paying off.

So, by way of introduction, I suppose I should mention that Clark and Brenda Triton were, until recently, Clark Triton and Brenda Sutherland and are good friends of mine. Clark and I met in Dr. Schrader’s 112 class, and have had multiple classes together ever since; he is a sophomore, as well. We met Brenda as a freshman a few weeks later, when Clark helped her back up when she had tripped on a step coming on to the tram; they started dating soon after. Very romantic indeed. They’re both history majors with geology emphases and are huge nerds; their parents were worried they rushed into marriage, but I think they’re perfect for each other.

Also by way of introduction, I suppose I should mention that my name is Hershel Layton, if that knowledge is of any importance to you; I suppose I am referring to ‘Diary’ when I address my audience. And before you ask, _no_ , I was not named after Milton S. Hershey nor his chocolate company, but after John Herschel, an eighteenth century scientist who co-invented photography, thank you very much. When I was adopted, my parents dropped the C in the spelling, for whatever reason; at least it’s one less letter for me to say when spelling my unusual name for people.

Since I last wrote at the beginning of my freshman year, I have chosen my major: archaeology. It’s what I had in mind from the beginning, though I was open-minded as long as I would still be in the archaeological area. There isn’t much to choose from here, anyway: archaeology, like me, historical geology, like Clark, paleontology, anthropology, and various specializations in different parts of history. And of course there is the grad school – many undergrads I know on going there next and of those graduates most are planning on teaching – but I think I’ll steer clear of that. I’m spending enough money already!

Now then, back to business. I must admit that I felt rather gaudy today **:** standing at the front of the church to Clark’s left like a tuxedoed shadow. It was no doubt an honour for him to choose me as his best man and only groomsman, as it was a rather small wedding: Brenda only had her maid of honour, Marylyn, there next to her. But, to my knowledge, I was the only one in the whole building wearing a cravat – my own, which Clark insisted I wear since he thinks it suits me. I wanted to argue that its deep red would look ridiculous next to his modern white necktie, but I told myself that this was _his_ wedding and that _he_ was letting me be a part in it, so I wore my cravat, held my tongue, and best manned, or whatever it’s called that I was doing. Thankfully, though, all eyes were primarily on the happy couple throughout the ceremony, so I don’t think anyone noticed my cravat much. And no, I am not as vain as I sound; I just did not want to stick out like a sore thumb.

I’m pretty tired from this long day of mine, so thus ends my first, official entry in this new diary. Until we meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday. Stay tuned!


	4. 15th August, 1948

Dear Diary,

Today, I am now twenty years of age. Am I old now? Clark, some of other friends, and I went out last night. I bought a new cap for myself; it’s a dark red, so it should match a lot of what I wear. The lads didn’t make me do anything stupid while we were out last night… at least, not that I remember.

I do enjoy writing in this diary, it makes me feel very scholarly… though that might not be too apparent, giving I’ve only written one entry in the last year. I’ll try to be more constant in the future.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all chapters will be this short, I promise! Some will be longer than others, just depending on what's going on in Hershel's life at the time.
> 
> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	5. 11th April, 1950

Dear diary,

Who knew being a junior took so much out of oneself? I knew vaguely how much work it would be, but for some reason I thought I would waltz right through this year, senior year, and across the stage. No such thing. I’ve barely had time sleep, much less write anything down that wasn’t copious notes in class, a note-to-self, or a research paper and I imagine it’ll be just the same next year. In fact, Clark and I have fallen asleep studying more than a few occasions with open textbooks and notebooks for pillows. Good times. That hasn’t happened recently, though; I do hope he’s stopped snoring since he’s gotten married.

But I’ve managed to make all A’s this semester, so that’s something; my notes and experiences from Introduction to Archaeology back at Kingsbrook have helped me in more ways than I can count in multiple classes. When Dr. Schrader first started talking about Donald Rutledge’s _Ancient Histories_ , I, for once, actually feel ahead of the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	6. 13th May, 1950

Dear diary,

I’m officially a senior now. I haven’t started classes or anything since it’s just now the beginning of summer, but I’m a senior, all the same. I think that sounds pretty impressive. Since he has the top GPA of all the history majors, Clark has been invited to accompany Dr. Schrader on this summer’s exhibition as his assistant! They’re going to the Gorges Du Verdon in France. Dr. Schrader said he would have invited me, too, but geology really isn’t my strong suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	7. 14th May, 1950

I happened to stop by the mailroom today, just to clean out my box before leaving for the summer, and there I found a wedding invitation. Henry and Angela are engaged and are going to be married next month. This came as a bit of a shock to me. For some reason, I had assumed Angela wouldn’t marry anyone after Randall’s death. But her parents were always so demanding of her, so I guess it was inevitable. I certainly hope they’re marrying for love and not just because her parents forced her to find a husband. It was very kind of the soon-to-be LeDores to invite me, as we did not exactly part ways on good terms. Unfortunately, I’ll have to write back saying I will not be able to attend the wedding due to my classes. My social life has once again been foiled by the pursuit of knowledge.

Henry mentioned in a separate letter that they will moving into a small home they built near an oasis in the desert. This oasis is the base of operations for the continued search for Randall in the ruins. I assume this means the search for his glasses or a shoe or the body itself at the bottom of the ravine; they can’t actually think they’re going to find him _alive_ somewhere, not after all this time… Regardless, I wish I could be there at their sides: not only with my new understanding of caverns such as Akbadain but with my support, as well.


	8. 9th August, 1950

Dear diary,

Clark and Brenda are doing well; they just celebrated the fourth anniversary of their first meeting this week. It does my heart good to see my friend so happy with his other half. They were fully aware that getting married while still at university would be difficult, but they still chose to go ahead anyway. Fortunately, Clark’s almost done with his geology degree, but there’s still senior year to get through and Brenda is still knee deep in her junior year. I hope they don’t become overwhelmed with all that’s going on; they’ve told me their hopes of having a family, but they said they are going to wait to start trying for a baby until they are more stable – financially and with each other in this new chapter of life.

The other day I heard about a nearby gymnasium that offers fencing; it would be wonderful to get back into it and I could definitely use the exercise. That is, once I have some free time. …That is, if I _ever_ have free time again, which at this point in my life I am seriously doubting once uni starts back up. Clark and I are going out for drinks for my birthday this weekend, though, so that should be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	9. 28th September, 1950

Dear diary,

Not much of anything out of the ordinary happened over the summer. Once uni went down, I went home and worked at the front desk of the natural history museum and slept as much as I could. It was nice to be home for the full summer for once. My parents were as thrilled as ever to have me back under their roof and we spent a lot of time catching up. While being back in Stansbury, surrounded by the past, certainly wasn’t easy, it wasn’t as bad as what I had been dreading, as in I wasn’t run out of town by an angry mob wielding torches and pitchforks. No, I wasn’t dreading that; it’s just that my relationship with my hometown has changed in so many ways and I’m still getting used to it. Thankfully, everyone had the decency to not mention Randall.

I’ve been back at the brain factory, as Uncle Doug calls it, for two months now… no, this isn’t getting monotonous at all… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday.
> 
> I promise things are going to get more interesting soon. Anyone who has ever tried writing a diary knows that some days, you just really don't have much to write! :)


	10. 4th December, 1950

Dear Diary,

The Christmas holiday starts soon, but up until then, I’ll definitely have my hands full with classes. Alright, now that I’ve written this very descriptive, well thought out, and in depth entry, I have no more time for such leisurely writing… back to research for me. I'm off to the library... if I don't make it out, tell my mother I love her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	11. 2nd January, 1950

Dear diary, 

Got back from Stansbury last night. It’s been raining like mad recently. I wonder why. Oh wait… this is London. Never mind.

Not much is going on. Dr. Schrader assigned us new research partners in Classical Texts in Translation last week. Clark now has a… rather eccentric post-graduate as a partner; haven’t caught his name yet. I can’t say I envy him in this (whatsoever… at all…), but Clark will manage, I’m sure. He always did have that ability to understand animals of all sorts, so maybe that could come in useful somehow. The man does seem to be pretty smart, though, so hopefully he can be some sort of asset despite his, er, unique personality.

Replacing Clark as my partner, Dr. Schrader paired me with a freshman named Claire. We’ve worked well together so far; she’s diligent in her studies (which explains how she is taking an upperclassman course already and is the only reason why Dr. Schrader would pair me with a freshman). She seems nice enough and is really cooperative. That’s always a preferred combination for a lab partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	12. 23rd January, 1951

Dear diary,

I went to the library to today to find resources for Classical Texts in Translation (that class’s name is never any easier to write no matter how many times one does) today. There, I met up with Claire and we got right to work.

She is a great partner and I discovered early on that she’s a whiz researcher, but I don’t know what she’s doing at an Archaeology university. She’s smart and capable, no doubt, but she seems much more geared toward the mathematical part of Archaeology than the historical part. I haven’t asked about her major, but my guess is that it’s something more to do with the left side of the brain. We’ve talked quite a lot throughout the week, both during breaks from research and before and after lectures. I am beginning to quite enjoy these conversations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	13. 3rd February, 1951

Dear diary,

Classical Texts in Translation (yep, still a tedious name to write; I should abbreviate it next time, eh?) is now quite boring all of a sudden. I don’t know how I could say that, as Dr. Schrader is the best; in fact, we’re becoming good friends. It’s always been one of my favourite classes.

Yet it is now quite boring.

Coming back from a long weekend today, I discovered from a rather distraught fellow named Paul that Claire is no longer attending here. He looked ready to throw a tantrum. Now that I think about it, he’s Clark’s new research partner. Go figure.

Now that there’s an odd number in the class, Dr. Schrader is letting me work on my own. Since he believes in one-on-one productivity, if there is an odd number, he’d much rather have someone by themselves, asking him any questions they might have, then there being three to a group. And anyway, Claire and I had already done the biggest chunk of the research, so it’s not that much extra work. Since I’m an introvert, I always have worked better on my own… though I can definitely see the benefits of having two minds collaborating to figure something out, furthering each others’ knowledge on a topic.

And Claire’s mind is certainly one worth reckoning with. It – and her, of course – shall be missed at Gressenheller University.

Luckily, we had swapped phone numbers before break last month, so I was able to call her after class and ask why she had made the decision. She explained she simply felt that, as much as she likes Gressenheller itself, history is not for her; science has always been her passion and she’s going to follow it. Just as I thought. Even so, it’s a pretty big leap to do this so close to the end of the year; I hope she knows where she’s going with this.


	14. 9th February, 1951

Dear diary,

Yesterday Claire told me that she is looking into the Institute of Polydimensional Physics to continue her education. Which is fine and all… except that, in thick (read: normal) traffic, the Institute is about a half-hour drive from Gressenheller, at the very least, and she’s moving to a flat close by to it.

At the end of the call over which she informed me of this, I fumblingly said that I would miss seeing her every day – I left out that fact that I had already been missing her ever since 30st January, her last day at Gressenheller before we got out for that long weekend. Apparently not noticing my awkwardness in saying so, she suggested that we meet up when we both have days free. I don’t think I’ve ever agreed with anyone so much in my life.

Oh, and I’ve been twenty-one now for some time; I suppose that’s sounds exciting, but really, it’s just another year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	15. 7th April, 1951

Dear Diary,

Claire has transferred and is now enrolled at the Institute. She’s finishing out her freshmen year there and then will go back for her sophomore year after the summer holiday. We had plans to meet halfway for coffee one day, but I ended up not being able to get a ride, no matter who I asked, so I asked her for a rain check. She said that was fine, but I don’t know when we’ll both ever have free time on the same day again.

All I can do now with this entry is write one word: _sigh_. When I complained to Clark about missing her, all he did was waggle his eyebrows at me accompanied by a goofy grin. Real mature, married man.

I wouldn’t _mind_ dating Claire, she is single, after all… it’s just it hasn’t come up in conversation yet. If she’s content to just be friends, I’m happy with that – especially now that we’re kind of long distance, she being half an hour away, and all. Still…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	16. 26th June, 1951

Dear diary,

Graduation absolutely sailed by. Life has been so busy since finishing my undergrad that I’ve barely had time to write anything. You would think it would be the opposite, since, at least for right now, I’m not in class or studying or writing papers for the first time in forever. And that’s how it is for most of my classmates: moving on with their lives beyond classroom walls. Clark, in fact, is going in for an interview at Finchley Garden Centre today; he is applying to be their environmental consultant.

But… there’s been something I’ve neglected to mention. It looks like I'm staying here at Gressenheller... to get my master's. Dean Delmona has a mind to make me a professor at Gressenheller! This is entirely thanks to Dr. Schrader, as he has always spoken well of me ever since I arrived here. Until he mentioned the dean’s thoughts to me the day before graduation, I thought the most Dean Delmona knew of me was that I received an upper second-class honour and that I was a popular tutor. But to think I’m actually being considered for professorship! In Archaeology! I knew I was going to do something in the archaeological field – I hadn’t decided quite what yet – but to help others on their way to their own dreams…

I think… I hope… that Randall would be proud.

I really should call my parents now; I was putting it off until I had a good half hour free. Here I go…

As I predicted, they are ecstatic for me and their rejoicings took the better part of the prearranged half hour. I asked them if they could keep quiet about it until the final decision is made; they said they will restrain themselves as best they can. We have much too much family and too many neighbors that I know they would tell all about it in a heartbeat, and I don’t want to go raising any hopes just to say later, “Sorry, I didn’t make the cut after all.” You know, because nothing is certain yet. I’m just trying to be realistic, alright?

My graduate classes start straight away; my second graduation is should be in ’53. Gressenheller is helping pay for my classes and textbooks, due to the fact that, if everything goes well, they’ll be hiring me once I complete my master’s degree. I would never consider looking elsewhere to lecture if Gressenheller was still an option. So that’s nice. And completely necessary for this poor university student. And so the journey begins again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	17. 2nd July, 1951

Dear diary,

Over the last few months, I’ve discovered that Claire and I share a love for puzzles. We go out with Clark and Brenda occasionally ( _not_ as a double date, as I must remind Clark). Additionally, we are also both interested in time – my interests are in the past, such as with archaeology; hers are in the future, what with her developing new technologies at the Institute of Polydimensional Physics. She doesn’t really talk about “time travel,” in so many words, but the word “polydimensional” has something to do with, well, multiple dimensions, and “physics” has to do with the movement thereof. And those have to do with time? Maybe? This is why I’m at GU and not the IPP. All I know is that she isn't just chasing after other science fictional theories. She delves headlong into what perhaps only people like Jules Verne thought possible until recently; into what, exactly, is beyond me. I’m pretty sure she is building a time machine, though. In her spare time.

So going off of this logic (I think), I invited her out to lunch yesterday when we happened to run into each other at the public library; we decided to walk to the restaurant since it was a nice day. On our way, we exchanged verbal puzzles and also plenty of hints for when we stumped each other, and cracked up when the one telling the puzzle couldn’t remember it or the solution properly (I’ll let you guess who forgot the most often and how many times). My cheeks were sore from smiling by the time I opened the door for her and we’d only been together ten minutes.

Once we had been served, I presented her with a new pocket watch from the jeweller down the road from the university. It seemed much unexpected to her, so much so that I was hoping that I had not overstepped some sort of unsaid boundary between us of not giving gifts; after all, I hadn’t even given her a card on her birthday back in May. But then the look of surprise disappeared and she smiled and remarked on its beauty and that she _loved_ it, even. As we left the restaurant, she asked why I had bought it for her; my lame reply was simply as a thank-you for being a good friend currently and a helpful research partner previously.

That was the main reason. The other reason was that I wanted to practice giving things to her… such things as a ring. Now, I may be hasty in thinking about this, and I haven’t gone ring shopping or thought about how to propose or even a whole lot about spending the rest of my life with her or anything like that. But there is just something about her that makes my head spin and my heart… well, she makes my heart do very funny things. She also seems to make me more loose-lipped: I started to talk about a few of my plans for the future… plans that include her. I shut up and changed the subject before I said anything further, though I didn’t think for a moment that I was fooling her.

I suppose it’s safe to say that I am in love; I certainly _hope_ that’s the case if I am _actually_ considering buying her a ring. I know that the price of any quality ring will be through the roof, but whenever I see Claire’s face, the issue of money seems to not exist. Which is kind of dangerous for a poor kid in grad school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	18. 1st November, 1951

Dear diary,

Gressenheller had a Halloween party called the All Hollows’ Evening Masquerade night before last. Clark dared me to go at all (as I had been planning on staying at home), as well as to dress as the Phantom of the Opera, saying how original I would be. Not so. There were three others, at least, who had had the same idea. But Claire agreed to be my Christine Daaé, which none of the other Phantoms were accompanied by, so that added to my originality, I guess. (Does that count as a date?!)

Clark’s old Classical Texts in Translation partner, Paul, was there, as well; I guess he’s in grad school, too, since he was a year ahead of Clark and me. He was not dressed up, or at least not that I could tell. He just seemed to be there to skulk, not speaking to anyone, not eating any of the refreshments. The woman cutting the cake offered him a piece, but he only wrinkled his nose and avoided the table like the plague. Maybe he was there as a vampire (there were at least ten of those in attendance), avoiding sweets instead of sunlight, or something; at times, I could have sworn he was glaring at me. If that were the case, he should have explained himself, or at least bothered with a costume.

That aside, it was an enjoyable evening. Claire and I made quite a handsome couple, if I do say so myself, though Claire, of course, was the better half, most likely because she knows the story so much better than me and is fairly decent at acting. She’s an excellent dancer, to boot. I just barely passed ballroom dancing back at Kingsbrook, so I had to rely mostly on my fencing experiences to keep from stepping on her toes. We had a lot of fun, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Wednesday and Saturday!


	19. 5th May, 1952

Dear diary,

Today is Claire’s twentieth birthday. When I had asked her what kind of gift she would like last week, all she had said was a new notebook. That was easy enough to obtain – I even found one with a lovely cursive C on the front – and she was quite delighted. I also took her out for a picnic and ice cream at St James's Park. She doesn’t have any family nearby (her parents live up in Northampton) and she didn’t tell any of her coworkers at the Institute it was her birthday since she isn’t very close to them, so I wanted to give her a special day. From the continual beam on her face, I think it’s safe to say I succeeded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Saturday!


	20. 23rd September, 1952

Dear diary,

As of late, classes have been unbearable. Why I ever agreed to this torture, I will never know. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand another four or five years of it – at the very least – and then teach classes for the rest of my working life and… oh, I can’t write anymore.


	21. 13th January, 1954

Dear Diary,

Clark and Brenda are five weeks pregnant! I’m overjoyed, though rather sleepy. Clark called me at 4 A.M. this morning with the happy news. He said they were going to wait until later that day to announce the news to their families and friends (read: everyone with functioning ears in all of London), but he couldn’t wait that long to tell me. An hour has passed and I have not been able to go back to sleep. I am trying to convince myself that this is because usually, once I wake up in the morning, I never can fall back asleep. The alternate reason for my early morning insomnia is that I am more excited for Clark and Brenda than I realise. Why would that be, though?

The Tritons have been doing well; they both had received several scholarships for uni, so they don’t have nearly as much debt as the most of people we graduated with. Clark is doing really well at his greenhouse; Brenda is teaching secondary school history, which of course doesn’t pay much, but she has some good benefits. 

And I’ll admit it: I lost my diary early December of ‘52. I only just found it when I was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to go back to sleep after Clark’s call. It was on the top of a bookshelf; how it ever ended up there, I may never know. Shame on me for not writing at all for a whole year and half, yes, I know. But truthfully… you certainly haven’t missed much. Claire is doing well and there have been no advances in our relationship; I would certainly have told you if there were! Classes are as usual, therefore, life is as usual. Professorship seems further and further away all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for getting so behind on my upload schedule! I recently transferred to a new college and I'm living away from home for the first time, so life has been a bit hectic, but in a good way! 
> 
> I'll think I'll adjust my schedule to uploading every Sunday. Maybe that'll work better!


	22. 19th March, 1954

Dear Diary,

It would appear that Claire and I are now a couple.

I just returned home from Robertson Park, the centre of Gressenheller next to the lake. We planned to meet there yesterday, since she had to come by this part of London on an errand anyway. When I found her standing under our favourite tree, she seemed happy to see me, if not a bit nervous. Not saying much by way of greeting, she gave me an envelope and told me to read the letter within at home. I would tape it onto this page, but there is a special pleasure in being able to hold it in my hands. Now that I’m back at my flat, I see that the letter does indeed expound upon that which she wordlessly debriefed me.

Ahem… 24 years old (as of recently), and I just had my first kiss. I am writing this bit of information down because this is a diary, after all, and I should be able to boldly confide my secrets. Which is why I will not go into further detail – such detail being the reason for how my heart was getting a week’s worth of aerobic exercise even though I was standing still on my feet, or how red my face must surely have turned, or such as how good she smells or how cute her nose is when she smiles. Or how there was some strange ringing in my ears… either that, or someone was screaming their full head off somewhere in the park. It was probably my imagination, though, since Claire said she didn’t hear anything.

Anyhow, I suppose this means I can officially start ring shopping, though for a poor grad student such as myself, employed at his university’s mailroom such as I am, saving up for one, as well as a wedding, it will probably take a while. But it’s just as well: we only just got together this afternoon, after all! Now, I should probably put down my pen and call my… wait for it…

GIRLFRIEND.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Sunday!


	23. 9th June, 1954

Dear Diary,

I’ll try to be more consistent with my entries, I promise!

My stomach feels as if it is about to burst. Claire’s parents invited us over to their house for supper and the long trip to get there and back was worth it. Mrs. Lillian certainly knows her way around the kitchen. This was not the first time I’ve eaten with the Foleys, much less the first time I have ever been in their presence since having been acquainted with their daughter, but it was the first time since we started dating. Even so, Claire was still sending grinning looks between her dad and me as if she were looking for signs of approval. Yes, something has definitely transpired in my relationship with Claire, to the point that she is now worried about what her dad thinks of me. Mr. Ken seems to like me, as he hasn’t given me any reason to think otherwise. I think the fact that I’m earning a doctorate also scores me some points with him.

In other news, Clark has been promoted to manager at Finchley and really enjoys it there. Now that Brenda is about 20 weeks in, they had a checkup yesterday. The ultrasound showed that Brenda is having a healthy baby boy. Clark called at 7:30 a.m. (a much godlier hour than the initial announcement of their pregnancy), having just heard back from the hospital, to inform me of this. He said he’d show me the sonogram pictures later.

From here on out, I refuse to turn my diary into some sort of log for their pregnancy and subsequent parenthood as seen from my perspective. I have a life. Kind of. While I’m not studying my arse off. But, since things have been quiet around uni (not ‘quiet’ as in not busy, but ‘quiet’ as in uneventful), there isn’t really much else to write about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Sunday!


	24. 14th June, 1954

Dear Diary,

I went out to lunch with the Tritons today. Just thought I'd share a particularly memorable conversation.

“Alright,” said Clark, “now that we know the baby’s gender, we have to come up with the perfect name.” 

I have never seen Clark smile so goofily – at Brenda or otherwise. They took me out to lunch this afternoon, and I had been hoping rather against hope that the discussion would not revolve around Triton Jr., and… Clark said the above as soon as we sat down, even before the waiter could pass out menus. Brenda noticed my slight grimace at Clark’s suggested conversation starter.

“Clark…” she said, taking his hand after ordering water for her husband and herself. He certainly didn’t need anything with sugar or caffeine. “Let’s wait a bit to start discussing the name, hmm?”

“Brilliant as always, love,” Clark said as he leaned over to touch his forehead to hers. “We’ve five and a half months to think of a name, so let’s focus on matters at hand. The colours for the nursery should be picked out, as we’ll need to start decorating soon.”

While she was still turned towards Clark, Brenda and I exchanged glances; I shrugged and mouthed ‘it’s fine’ across the table to her. She shook her head, amused, as she turned back to face the table to browse through the menu.

“Our cream walls are fine, Clark; with shelves of books and pictures frames and all, the wall colour won’t be noticed much.”

“The cream is nice,” he said thoughtfully, “but babies love colour so much, so I think it might be a nice change of pace for the baby’s room to stand out from the rest of the house. Some shade of green might look nice with the carpet, because, really, blue is such an overdone colour for boys.”

“If you really do want a painted room, then blue would go just as well with the carpet as green. Besides,” Brenda put a hand to his blue shirt and batted her eyelashes, “I’ve always loved blue.”

I don’t think Clark even blinked before saying, “Robin’s egg, or sky?”

“Sky, definitely.”

“Sky blue… I love it.”

My teacup could hardly hide my grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Sunday! Now that exams and the holiday season are over, I'm going to try to get back on my regular upload schedule. Thanks for your patience, and Happy New Year!


	25. 3rd August, 1954

Dear Diary,

I’ve been told that the Tritons have arrived on good first and middle names for the baby, but they’re not telling what those names are. Ever the merciful one of the pair, Brenda did hint that their son will be named after some grandfather, though. I went to their mothers because I figured they would be the ones most likely to spill the beans on the subject. No such thing. Neither Mrs. Gloria Triton nor Mrs. Linda Sutherland would reveal any of the names of their respective family patriarchs to me. They were forewarned about me; this was to be a strictly family business. I’ve also been told by certain informants that Brenda has been having some dreadful cravings recently for roast lamb. My heart goes out for Clark’s wallet.

On a completely unrelated subject, I heard Clark’s old CTT partner, that Paul fellow, has been dismissed from Gressenheller. I wonder what happened, though I’m not really surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Sunday!


	26. 20th August, 1954

Dear diary,

Ma and Pa are taking a short vacation this week, staying with me in my flat, to celebrate my birthday. Claire and I treated our parents to supper tonight at a new restaurant, and it was a lot of fun watching the four get to know each other. So… it seems like we’re going to have amicable in-laws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters every Sunday!


	27. 15th September, 1954

Dear Diary,

Being an only child, I never, ever expected to feel like an uncle unless I were to marry a woman with siblings (Claire has none, by the way, so being an uncle by marriage is out of the question). I certainly do feel like an uncle now, though.

Luke Alexander Triton was born today at 5:38 a.m. (fitting that it should be so early in the morning, yes?), weighing 2.7 kg; perfectly healthy, with a mess of blond hair. He was named after Brenda’s grandfather while sharing his middle name with Clark’s father – the sneaks; they used **_two_** patriarchs’ names.

Due to some minor complications during birth, Clark said they would be spending a second night at the hospital to let Brenda rest and receive a blood transfusion. I just got back from running some errands for them; Clark said he is so sleep deprived he momentarily forgot who I was at one point. Even so, I’ve never seen the two of them look so happy.


	28. 17th September, 1954

Dear Diary,

I am about to leave for the hospital to make the acquaintance of the newest member of the Triton family. Clark told me over the phone that both sets of their parents and two of Brenda’s siblings are coming to the hospital, as well. Despite their involving me in their preparations and their closeness with both of their families, Clark and Brenda had wanted to go through this milestone alone. Very understandable, though I do wish I had been there to see Clark nearly faint next to Brenda’s bed, a happening he is not likely to ever live down anyway.

I’m back. Claire having permission to come too, we arrived at their hospital room and were greeted by Tritons and Sutherlands alike. It was the picture of family and parenthood: members of the two families abounding, Brenda in the bed, Clark at her side, and the little bundle held securely in his mother’s arms.

Amid the constant activity of the hospital room of family members coming and going (the occasional nurse checking on mother and son was thrown in there somewhere, as well), Claire and I would occasionally catch each other’s eyes. On such occurrences, we would quickly smile and look away, either to Luke’s pink little face or out the hospital room window. I wonder if she wants children.

There was a hierarchy for who held the baby next what with all of the grandmothers and aunts around (Claire was even in front of me in the lineup), so I was not able to see Luke up close right away. When I finally had a turn to hold him, I was a bit surprised by, well, our eye contact. It was not as if I’m some baby whisperer and being in my arms had calmed him so that he could hold still long enough to actually look at me. While not exactly focused, he seemed interested and thoughtful, as strange as it sounds since he’s only a day old. I use the following adjective sparingly but… he is quite adorable. The aforementioned blond hair matches his parents’ almost exactly; he has Brenda’s eyes and Clark’s nose.


	29. 20th September, 1954

Dear Diary,

The Tritons came home from the hospital on the 18th to their baby-proofed house. As planned, their nursery is a lovely sky blue with an alphabet theme.

Ugh… I must stop writing all of these baby entries. It’s not even my baby I’m writing about! But, like I said, I do rather feel like an uncle. Other than that, I am just so proud of Clark and Brenda. Many of my other high school and college classmates have chosen much different paths that seeing the Tritons doing things the right way is such a breath of fresh air. This is also because I am not exactly a social butterfly and Clark is like a brother to me.


	30. 2nd February, 1955

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter! I have several more chapters written, but I have just forgotten to actually post them. I will try to get onto a more regular posting schedule with this fic. 
> 
> Thanks to MJ for the encouragement! :)

Dear Diary,

It’s hard to believe Clark and Brenda have been married for five years already.

What is also hard to believe is how little I know of taking care of a baby.

Clark and Brenda went away for their anniversary this weekend, and I kept Luke Friday night, and then both sets of grandparent had him Saturday and Sunday due to schedules. He is such a relaxed baby, but I was such a nervous babysitter that I rather canceled out his calmness. I cannot express in words how grateful I was to hand him over to Clark’s parents Saturday morning.

In the face of my nervousness the whole time, things went pretty well once I got diaper changing down to a science. I’m not sure if this could be counted as his first word or not, but at one point Luke looked directly and at me and called me ‘Ersh.’ I nearly melted with unclesque pride. 


	31. 28th August, 1955

Dear Diary,

Classes… classes… classes… goodness, you’d think I was in school for my doctorate in Archaeology to become a professor or something. Strange.

Claire has been so busy in the lab recently, researching polydimentional physics and time and all of those other matters that I completely understand, that we haven’t even had time to go to the park together in two weeks. All she can tell me is that she and her coworkers are making a lot of progress right now in their research; I just hope she’s not overworking herself in the name of science.

Luke said his official first word today when Brenda was feeding him. She thought he was trying to say some variation of ‘ma,’ but he clung to her robe, saying an infantile version of ‘more’; the boy certainly has his dad’s appetite. I was made aware of this at – you guessed it – five this morning: Brenda immediately called for Clark and he immediately called me. I must say that those two are easily entertained!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer diary entries are coming soon!


	32. 14th September, 1955

Dear Diary,

Claire finally had a day off today, so we went for a leisurely bicycle ride through the neighbourhood. She seemed to enjoy it, but I could tell her thoughts were elsewhere when we weren’t in conversation; she didn’t even offer any puzzles to me. The woman’s mind doesn’t stop working when she steps out of the lab.

It’s Luke’s first birthday tomorrow. This may sound ridiculous, but I asked the toy salesman if he had any good puzzle toys for one year olds. He certainly thought it was ridiculous – who’s ever heard of a one-year-old solving puzzles? – but, past his chuckles, he suggested one of those wooden boxes that has shapes cut in the top through which you have to put the corresponding block through. And this sounds even more ridiculous, but I hope Luke likes it.


	33. 15th September, 1955

Dear Diary,

The Tritons had only invited me, Claire, and their parents to Luke’s birthday party, as none of the aunts and uncles had been able to make it; the party had a small, intimate atmosphere to it. I taught Luke how to put the blocks in the right holes and he did it once on his own. 

One thing that rather dampened the birthday festivities was that Clark mentioned to me that he and Brenda are considering moving. There might be an opening for him in a town not too far away from London, but nothing is certain yet – they don’t even know what the new job would entirely comprise of. I am worried that the job, while paying well, won’t be in Clark’s interests or make use of his talents. He loves his position as a manager at Finchley; I can’t imagine him anywhere else. But if he feels like it would be a good opportunity for the family, I’ll be happy as long as they’re happy.


	34. 9th May, 1956

Dear Diary,

It’s been rather interesting to see Brenda and Claire bond. They don’t have many interests in common, but it seems to be an opposites-attract friendship. Claire loves science, Brenda loves reading, but they both love visiting museums, playing with Luke, and cooking together; they even went shopping for Claire’s birthday last week and had a lot of fun. Claire doesn’t have many female friends since she is the only female scientist in her wing at the Institute, so I am thinking that Brenda will be Claire’s matron of honour.

Now just to get that ring bought. I’d wager that if I were not currently earning my doctorate, I’d probably be married already. It’s sobering, but somehow motivating at the same time. At least I know I’ll be able to provide for our family, if we decide to have children. I know Claire would probably want to continue her work at the Institute even with kids, but I just never want her to have to worry about money.


	35. 18th October, 1956

Dear Diary,

Life… yes, I remember it well. It was only a few short years ago that I had one of my very own. Ah, the memories.

I practically live in the library now, so I’m only working 10 hours a week in the mailroom now. It’s taking ages to save up for a ring. I’ve never felt so poor, but I am determined to pay for it in cash. But Claire and I have informally discussed marriage in the past; big wedding or small wedding, location, the like. You can imagine me attempting to keep my thumping heart within my ribcage during such conversations, although I was relieved to notice she looked a bit nervous, too. But she looked really happy, too. I think I have a pretty good guarantee of what her answer will be.

I’d better run. I have a practice lecture to get to with Schrader will be shadowing me. Wish me luck!


	36. 9th February, 1957

Dear Diary,

Clark has been accepted for that new job he was talking about, after all. He will be overseeing the excavation of a legendary ruin called the Golden Garden, located in the small town of Misthallery, the academic knowledge of which has only within the last decade come to light. Said in one article to be an absolute haven for scientists in every field, the Golden Garden had been discussed in many of my classes and I’ll probably cover it sometime this year with my own students (that’s a scary thought: _my students_ ), but even Dr. Schrader doesn’t know much about it. One cement fact about it is that it is somehow related to the Azran. It makes me a little uncomfortable, to be honest. My best friends and Azran ruins don’t have a history of playing nice. At least he won’t be working alone.

I said before that I am afraid Clark’s new job might not suit him well because I don’t know if he can stand just overseeing. The man loves to get down in the mud and to dig and to find, not stand by on the sidelines and direct other people to do what he’d rather be doing himself. And if the Golden Garden is said to be legendary, then Clark might become discouraged if it turns out that they are not able to find it. In which case, he would find another job in their new town. Or, better yet, he would move the family back to London.

I can hope, can’t I?

Because of (or should I say, despite) my great organisational skills, the Tritons are about halfway done packing thus far. Even so, helping Luke to understand what’s going on is will be harder than getting Clark’s oak desk out the door. I should know, as I have attempted both, but we gave up on the latter task and will let the professional movers handle it when the time comes. Luke is only three years old and already is such a smart child, but the whole situation has him confused and upset. And for good reason, too: it doesn’t make much sense to be putting all that is familiar to him in cardboard boxes to be taped up and stored in their shed.

After three years of saving just about every other penny through uni, I am so close to being able to afford a ring for Claire and the trappings to follow, most of which are even more expensive than the ring; but hey, I have to start somewhere; besides, our families will be helping with that, so it won’t be just me. The ring I have my eye on isn’t even that impressive or large, but I am sure it will suit her. Now just to finish my degree…


	37. 29th May, 1957

Dear Diary,

I made the cut. 

I now have a doctorate in Archaeology at Gressenheller University. Even though I am only a professor in title at this point, I’m already starting to be known as Professor Layton… Well, three people have called me that around campus – and those three people were Dean Delmona, Dr. Schrader, and Clark – but still. After all this time, it didn’t even seem possible until today; even now it doesn’t seem like reality. And to think, at age 27, I’m the youngest professor Gressenheller has ever had!

**_Professor Hershel Layton._ **

That felt good.

I just told my parents over the phone that my graduation is on 8th June; I don’t think they could have been any audibly happier than if I had said I was getting married on that date. Pa is sending me another Sheaffer, and a good thing too, as this old pen has done its time throughout these ten years of uni. By the way, he’s having a hip surgery tomorrow, so he told me my happy news would encourage him.

Having had accompanied me to Dean Delmona’s office for my results on the final exam, Clark shared my parents’ enthusiasm and kept on saying, “Well done, old boy” while clasping me on the shoulder as we walked to Dr. Schrader’s office. The doctor nearly wept, especially when I asked him to be my professional and personal mentor.

When I called Claire with the news, she said she had just finished talking to my parents about it, but she expressed her joy for me, as well, and said she couldn’t wait to watch me walk across the stage a second time. Now that I’m thinking about it, I forgot to ask her when my parents got her phone number… I’m not surprised, to be honest. They already love her and she’s not even their daughter-in-law yet.

Anyway, Claire is coming to my – you’ll never believe this – my office in a few minutes to congratulate me in person. I’ve only just begun moving things into it an hour ago; I suppose I should do some tidying up, what with boxes and books sprawled about everywhere. Although… Dr. Schrader did tell me Gressenheller provides professors with general office cleaning services. Very nice, very nice indeed.

(As a small side note, now that I am in the process of being hired at Gressenheller, I am now sworn to secrecy concerning the fact that Dean Delmona wears a wig. Shocking, right? You must promise to tell no one of this, Diary. I’m telling Clark, of course, but he doesn’t count.)


	38. 5th July, 1957

Dear Diary,  
I have been staring at this page for the last ten minutes, willing words to come forth… trying to figure out how to say what needs to be said… considering the best way to go about this entry through the fogbank that is my mind… I really need to get this down on paper while it’s fresh, before time takes its toll on the memory.

Let me just go ahead and start simply. Or simply enough.

If you were to ask how being a professor is, I couldn’t rightfully tell you. I’ve been shown my lecture hall and am about done moving into my office, but as I’ve been in a coma for the last month, I haven’t really done much as far as teaching goes.

I used to wait months in between entries and think nothing of it, back when life was all studying, classes, research, practice lectures, papers, studying, food, sleep, more studying, occasional socializing, all leading up to earning my doctorate and becoming a professor. But this has been a single month and so much has happened; my whole life has been turned upside down in a matter of weeks. Suffice it to say I have a lot of catching up to do.

That afternoon of my last entry, the 29th of April, I had done some straightening up and organising so that my office did not look like a complete wreck when I received my first visitor. As I said, Claire stopped by to congratulate me. No sooner had she stepped foot across the threshold did she excitedly set a tall, wrapped box in front of me. Within it I found a brand new top hat with a red ribbon around the brim. She gave it to me apparently to complete my “look” as a university professor, calling me “a true gentleman” once she had it on my head. And she may or may not have also bought it for the purpose of replacing my dilapidated red cap that I’ve had since freshman year.

With barely a word in edgewise from me, Claire made dinner plans for that night and had me promise to wear the hat on the date. She hurried off to the Institute, explaining that she and her coworkers had a very important experiment planned. Traffic wasn’t too bad that day, so I figured the bus would get her there faster than usual and that even though she had been running a bit late, she should have still had time for any prep work they had to do. She beamed at me and was back out the door.

As I saw her off, I thought of how fortunate I was to have had her come into my life. I imagined spending the rest of my days with her. I also replayed a few proposal scenarios through my mind and discarded two or three of them, reassuring myself that I would come across the right one eventually.

Forty-five minutes later, I was examining my new headgear in my restroom mirror when I heard my office telephone. I heard Clark’s voice; he sounded strangely like he was out of breath, but I smiled with anticipation, expecting to hear celebratory plans for that evening accompanied by continued variations of “well done, old boy.” But then a frantic barrage of words was let loose upon my ear. Before I could process what Clark was saying, my mind flickered with an image of Luke and the question rose in my mind of whether something had happened to him and of what I could do to help.

Fortunately, the situation didn’t involve Luke. Unfortunately, it did involve someone else I deeply care for and who I could do nothing for.

Broken by static and background noise, words I will never forget came over the receiver, “Hershel… quickly… there’s been an awful accident at the Institute… a huge explosion of some ki…” Sirens blaring drowned him out. “I don’t see Claire anywhere. Stay calm. I’ll meet you at th-”

Not staying calm at all, I was out my office door before the phone hit the floor.

The half-hour on the bus was the longest of my entire life. When I had sat down, the sky had been noticeably greying; by the time I got off, it was black with smoke. Fire engines laid on their horns from all around; people were running every which way. I sprinted down the street away from the bus stop, nearly blindly, with only my memory serving as my guide to the epicenter of the chaos. Drawing nearer to Institute, the bedlam had only increased. I couldn’t approach the building, as it was completely surrounded by firefighters, policemen, and medical personnel. But from where I stood, I could clearly see that the source of the explosion had been Johnson Hall - Claire’s workplace. I had already been fearing the worse; this did not help the state I was in at all.

A tall young man with black hair and a shorter, older man were being led out of the Institute by firemen. I only just recognised them as Dimitri and Bill, Claire’s coworkers and mentors from the Institute; Claire had introduced us one day when I had picked her up for a lunch date. They looked quite haggard and were covered in debris. Not paying them any more mind, I tried to get through the throng, but I quickly found that it was no use. I eventually resorted to trying to placate a young boy who looked and sounded like I felt. The child was hysterical, wailing about his apartment being on fire and his parents being trapped inside. He wanted to go back inside for them. I directed a fast slap to his face, hoping to knock some sense into him before he harmed himself.

“Pull yourself together, boy! There’s nothing to be done. Jump back in there and you’ll die, too!”

Way to be sympathetic, Hershel, I know.

As the boy sobbed into my chest, I was being asked by some policemen to verify my identity and whether or not I knew any of the survivors or victims of the explosion. I asked who the victims were. A male and female name, from the apartment complex, then, from the Institute, Claire Foley.

That’s right: she’s dead. The policemen were so official about everything, not expressing any kind of condolences despite my shocked expression at their words.

Body-wrenching tears started without me realising as I watched the newly orphaned child being taken away by a policewoman. That was the last time I ever saw the boy with whom I suddenly had so much in common: we had lost everything that day. At the time, though, I was not thinking about him. All that was going through my mind was ‘I just saw her an hour ago. Now she’s dead. Why didn’t I take her into my arms before she left my office, kiss her, tell her I love her, and ask her to marry me even without a ring? Maybe then she would have just skipped out on the experiment to celebrate and she would still be alive. But now she’s dead. First Randall, now Claire. Why? Why is she dead?

Clark eventually found me standing alone, oblivious to my chaotic surroundings with these thoughts swimming in my head. When he saw the state I was in, he went into only-sane-man mode. Wordlessly gripping me by my shoulders, he steered me around other people and ushered me onto a bus a few blocks away from the mayhem and off to his house, which is only about two blocks away from the Institute. Brenda must have heard about the accident but did not know about Claire; once she saw my face and Clark’s indicative nod from the front door, she let out a single choked sob before leading me to inside. I was inconsolable; I couldn’t speak and I wouldn’t listen to a thing they said to me. They eased me into their guestroom. They knew that, after all I had just encountered, the best thing for me at that time was rest; indeed, my eyes were already closed by the time the curtains were drawn.

My mind fogged over, I fell asleep soon after. Luke might have tried to visit me and Brenda probably brought me something to eat at one point; I don’t remember much too clearly. I was somewhat better the next day, though I still felt absolutely torn up inside.

After thanking the Tritons for their hospitality – I don’t know what I might have done had it not been for that God-sent family – I returned home in hopes of getting a bit more sleep. No luck: I may as well have been a beached fish trying to find the most comfortable position on the sand. I didn’t feel at all like writing in my diary; I had no words; I wouldn’t have been able to write her name, much less hold a pen properly. When I walked by my front door on the way to the kitchen around midnight, I saw a slip of paper that had come through the mail slot. It was a note in Clark’s handwriting; he had apparently anticipated my sleeplessness. 

I wasn’t so sure.

I called Dean Delmona first thing that morning and asked if I could wait a while to begin teaching, as my first lecture was scheduled on 5th June, to take over for Annette Rogers who is going on maternity leave until the summer classes end in July. Dean Delmona was aware of the accident at the Institute, but had had no idea about Claire or the other deaths before I told him. Gressenheller is so small that deans and other higher-ups know all the students by name; he remembered Claire’s time as a freshman there, however short before she had transferred, fondly. Having been widowed years ago, he also understood the necessity of a time of mourning for me.

“You heard of the explosion, but not about the fatalities,” I told him, “which is why I will be running an investigation of my own during this down time. The police report was very short, only giving the basics of what had happened but including none of the repercussions. The media certainly has not covered the matter. There wasn’t even a mention of the destroyed apartment building in the paper. These deaths deserve recognition.”

My words were followed by silence, and when the dean finally spoke, there was an undercurrent of concern in his voice. “Alright, Hershel… you have my permission. Do be careful, though.”

I tried calling my parents, but when I heard Ma’s voice, I couldn’t speak. I just ended up writing them a letter. Even that wasn’t very coherent, though.

Clark had to come to my flat to help me dress properly for Claire’s funeral. It was on the following Monday, 4th May, the day I had planned on officially beginning my new life as an educator and there I was, dressing in all black except for my top hat, which, in the days it had been in my possession, I had only taken off for sleep and the occasional shower. I was a pathetic sight to behold, but he stuck with me, all the same, faithful old brick that he is.

“Did you get my note through your mail slot?” he asked as we walked to my front door. I nodded wearily as a reply. “Don’t forget it, Hershel. We’re going to get through this.”

The funeral was really more of memorial service; the casket remained closed as there was not much left of the body to display. Her family, some of the staff and student body from Gressenheller who she had gotten to know, and many scientists from the Institute attended, packing the church. My parents, unfortunately, could not make it all the way from Stansbury on such short notice, what with Pa still recovering from his hip surgery, but a large bouquet of lilies stood front and center in their stead.

I wouldn’t have known what to say to Claire’s family had Clark and Brenda not practically written out a script for me beforehand. Regardless, the Foleys and Claire’s grandfather were gracious as I tried to find my tongue; it wasn’t long before Mrs. Lillian embraced me so as to put me out of my misery, providing the touch of a mother I so needed. Even though I had just been Claire’s boyfriend, the funeral home treated me as they would a widower, which was kind of them but only made me feel worse. I wept freely through the whole service. I barely ate or slept for the next 24 hours.

My investigation turned up almost entirely fruitless other than the fact that politics were somehow deeply involved in the whole thing. This alone was not at all helpful. So 16th May, I headed to the construction zone that had been Johnson Hall to take a look around. Not much progress had been made, or at least that I could see. But as soon as I stepped foot on the property, there was a horrible pain in my back. I crumpled to the ground and was instantly out.

What I first saw afterward was a near-blindingly white ceiling. The beeping of machines monitoring my vital signs increased as I regained consciousness. I was in a hospital bed, my body attached to numerous IVs that were the only things keeping me alive. Leaping up from the couch beside the bed, Ma was upon me in an instant and Pa called for the doctor, and then they were both kissing my face and smoothing my hair and telling me how good it was to see my eyes open.

Flanked by nurses, Dr. Hale came as soon as he could, and when I was coherent enough (as in, when I could keep my eyes open for two minutes on end), he explained to me what had happened. A month ago, a custodian from an undamaged wing of the Institute had found me, having been beaten and left for dead, so he called 999. I was bloodied and had gashes all over, particularly my head. The custodian said he had had no clue about what exactly might have happened to me, though it was obvious that some kind of assault had taken place. I was identified by my driver’s license; whoever had done this to me was apparently not after whatever money I had had on me, as my wallet was fully intact. Dr. Hale did not know anything else about what had happened other than that I had been shot, the bullet having narrowly missed my heart. It had been removed from my back about two weeks ago; it came out so cleanly that Pa gathered from it that the marksman had not been aiming to kill. Thankfully, the damage was minimal, but the recovery was long.

I couldn’t believe it, yet the fading throbbing in my head and my bandaged chest and what fading bruises I could see on myself proved the story all too well.

My mind certainly did not return to me right away. Realising that I had been out for so long, I mildly panicked, asking whether I had lost my doctorate because I hadn’t gone to graduation and therefore had been fired from Gressenheller before I had even started. My parents told me that I wasn’t fired and that they had told Dean Delmona everything that had happened and that I would still receive my doctorate and my job at the university. I had been given permission to take time off before I began teaching to investigate and I could not have helped the unfortunate outcome.

Running a hand through my hair in relief at this news, I panicked again, demanding to know where my top hat was. Pa fetched it for me from a nearby chair, where it had sat for the whole of my convalescence, and handed it to me. When I had calmed down, I explained to them that it had been Claire’s last gift to me. Thankfully, the hat had not taken any harm from my assault other than having gotten a bit sodden from the downpour of that day, according to Pa.

Sitting in the hospital bed, floods of memories of the day of her death came back to me; after which, I broke apart, the grief born anew. This was the first time in a decade that Ma, careful of IV lines, took me into her arms and comforted me, rocking me as if I were a child. The last time had been after Randall’s death. Pa posted himself near the door, making sure no nurses came to bother us until absolutely necessary.

The Tritons visited the hospital later that day. When my parents, Brenda, and Luke had left for the cafeteria to bring back some lunch, Clark and I began to discuss that, while caution would be of the upmost importance, perhaps I could start helping Scotland Yard on my days off from teaching. The sole purpose of this would to be to sharpen my natural skills of observation and to assist the Yard with those skills, but also to be among the first to hear of anything relating to Claire’s case and/or my assault… if anything ever turns up. I then asked Clark whether the family had moved yet. He said of course not; they are waiting until I am recovered enough to see them off.

With a hand on my tightly wrapped shoulder, Clark said, “There was no telling whether you were ever going to wake up again. Please… never scare me like that again, Hershel.”

“I’ll try not to,” I replied with a feeble smile.

He then complimented my top hat, which strengthened my smile a bit more even though I was blinking back tears at the same time. We went back to talking about me helping Scotland Yard again and he called me Sherlock Holmes. Laughing hurt my chest, but it felt good, nonetheless.

Since I am still under the care of multiple nurses under Dr. Hale’s orders – not to mention Ma and Pa – I have been made to stop and take naps throughout writing this novel of an entry. I think I’m done for today. Good night.


	39. 23nd August, 1957

Dear Diary,

Life has relatively returned to normal. I was discharged from the hospital this weekend, though I’ll be in a wheelchair for the next three weeks, so I’ll probably wait to speak with Scotland Yard about volunteering until then. I did much of my healing in that coma, so there was not much of a point for me to stay any longer at the hospital once I had woken up and recovered my strength.

My parents had been with me in the hospital through the whole month; one staying during the week and both staying over the weekends. They’re also paying my whole hospital bill: not only because I’m their son but because I have just started my new career. They didn’t say so, but I think they also want to honour Claire in this way. 

We’ve tried to find the custodian who discovered me at the Institute to express our thanks, but to no avail: the man had not even left his name with the ambulance nurses. I hope he knows he saved a life.

I have temporarily moved in with my parents in the hotel they rented in London for while I was in the hospital. This is because when they took me to my flat, we found that it had been torn apart. When we reported this to the police, they only attributed it to my previous assault and said to call if anything else happens, but could do nothing by way of checking into who had broken in and done such a thing. The most we can figure is that it happened after Ma picked up some clothes for me and my journal for my stay in the hospital. It’s also probably another form of vengeance towards me for the apparent crime of approaching an empty building not due for repair any time soon. His hip just about healed up now, Pa has been going there every day with a few friends of his to clean things up and to make sure no clue of the intruder was left.

This may sound strange, but I would have preferred my home to have been broken into; it’s my new office where most of my valuables are. The only thing that was taken that we have noticed so far are the majority of the pages of the notebook I had been compiling on the Institute’s blast. Someone must really not want me to investigate. I am certainly not going to try to go to the Institute again – my body actually aches at the thought – but my search for the truth is not ending here.

I’m donating the majority of the money saved for Claire’s ring and the wedding to the university library, where she and I had a lot of our first, in-depth conversations while studying together. I’ll spend the rest on cleaning supplies for my hat; it does not require much upkeep, but I want to ensure that it always looks its finest.

So now if you were to ask how being a professor is, I could rightfully tell you.

Being a professor is rather more enjoyable and fulfilling than training for it had made it out to be – as it ought to be, as a reward for those grueling six years of earning my doctorate. I suppose what makes the biggest difference is that I’m on my own territory now; I only have dear Dr. Schrader sitting in for two of my lectures a week rather than there being some skeptical professor I’m not familiar with watching my every move during practice lectures. Yesterday was my first official day; it was a thrilling but tiring experience, so as soon as I got back to my parents’ hotel, I went straight to bed. I am able to plan my schedule now: giving three lectures a day Mondays through Fridays in the mornings and afternoons, spending weekday evenings in my office, and taking Saturdays and Sundays off or doing research. Since it is nearly summer holiday, my substitute is nearly at the end of the curriculum, so that takes off a lot of stress.

Since Gressenheller is a small university, none of the classes ever become very large. Or rather, they do, but only by Gressenheller standards. By this I mean, and I don’t mean to brag, that one of mine is the largest one, as it currently contains nineteen people. I think this might be because, at age 27, I am the youngest professor… ahem… ever at Gressenheller, and that seems to attract younger students.

Thankfully, there is plenty of room behind and around the desk in my lecture hall for me to move about freely in my wheelchair. I won’t use my lectern until I can stand again since I can’t see from behind it, but it’s a very nice lectern and I can’t wait to use it. I’ve only gave minimum details as to why I’m in a wheelchair, but the students are easy with me.

In other news, I have rather changed my wardrobe tastes. Inspired by my top hat’s colour scheme, I stick more closely to shades of brown and orange. I think they suit me.


	40. 31st August, 1957

Dear Diary,

I’ve moved back into my flat and Ma and Pa have gone back to Stansbury. While I of course enjoy spending time with my parents, it is nice to have things back to normal. 

Things are still going well at the university. I now have every one of my forty-one students’ names memorized, which is pretty good, considering I’ve only been with them for four days of class. Summer holiday starts next week, but I believe most of them will be continuing afterword and I’ll be able to put all of that memorizing to use.


	41. 5th September, 1957

Dear Diary,

Well, the Tritons are off to Misthallery now.

I met them in front of their old home (which they thankfully had no trouble selling) for our goodbyes. They gave me a lovely, ornate vase from an antique store, just as “a small thank-you,” they said, for my friendship. Clark and Brenda had been wanting a new tea set for a while, which was my “small thank-you” to them: a small but quality set, each piece engraved with the letter T.

Due to the enjoyment brought to me by journaling over the years, I also gave Luke a 250-paged, royal blue, leather bound diary; I told his parents that it would be up to their discretion for when he would be old enough to start using it properly and not as a colouring book.

Parting is indeed such sweet sorrow, but I’m hoping this new beginning will be the best for them.


	42. 9th  September, 1957

Dear Diary,

There was a red light on my office answerphone when I returned from my 3:30 lecture, indicating a new voice recording. I saw that it was from a telephone with the Misthallery NPA, so of course I expected to hear Clark or Brenda. But when it started playing, a younger, unfamiliar, and decidedly baby-toothed voice filled the room.

“Hi, ‘Ershel!” the recording said. “Umm… Mum, what was I going to say?” A pause and some whispering. “Oh yeah! Me and Mummy and Daddy are having fun in Miffstallery! It’s really pretty! And wet, too! And my birtf-day is this week! We mith you!” Then I heard Brenda’s voice in the distance saying, “Alright, sweetie, push that button to hang up,” followed by some audible fumbling, the instructions being gently reinforced by Clark, and eventually a click. They must have just gotten their telephone line installed.

There was a lump in my throat as the recorded voice on the machine said, “Message saved. End of new messages.” My birthday card for Luke is already in the mail.


	43. 22th September, 1957

Dear Diary,

The reality of her death came crashing down on me just now, in the middle of the night. I’m still catching my breath. I woke up screaming and sweaty. I won’t describe the nightmare – not least because I don’t remember distinct details of it – though I will say it left me with only thoughts of Claire and her last day on earth… and the day we met… and our countless conversations, and the way her eyes lit up when she was talking about something she was passionate about… Now that I am awake, I also realise that the nightmare had brought Norwell Wall and everything that had happened in Stansbury, back to the forefront of my mind, as well.

Every one of my wounds from my assault felt as if they were aflame, such as I have not felt since I had received them; even then, I had only felt the initial blows before losing consciousness. After taking the prescribed medication for relapses in pain (Dr. Hale had anticipated such an occurrence), I settled back into bed and have been here ever since.

She was my first and last love. I don’t think I could bare this heartbreak ever again over someone else. I am just now realising how weak my heart is – the human heart in general, but mine especially, it seems. I need to protect what’s left of it.

But this is why I am going to focus on becoming a gentleman now, in Claire’s honour. I’ve always tried to be kind and well mannered, but I have never really given it much thought beyond those basics. The silk top hat Claire gave me does not automatically turn me into the perfect English gentleman, but it’s a symbol of my endeavor, and of her memory. It’s what she had wanted, and I will do it for her.

From here on out, I will strive to help anyone I can, to treat everyone I meet with respect and courtesy, to work hard at everything I do, to be levelheaded, to be a peacemaker, and to, above all, be a gentleman. I promise, Claire. I promise.


	44. 31st September, 1957

Dear Diary,

Dr. Schrader surprised me this afternoon with a framed sign, which is now hanging below my nameplate on the lecture hall door. The sign reads “Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch'entrate,” Italian for "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,” from Dante’s Inferno. Below that was room for me to write, “Not really; just please do your best.” 

Despite being an Archaeology professor, I do enjoy literary humor, as well. Once we hung the sign, the doctor and I both had a good chuckle. It feels great to smile again. Dr. Schrader is a true friend.

I talked to the Tritons earlier. They’re doing well. Once Brenda filled me in on what their house is like and Luke’s new playmates, Clark took over the conversation, rambling on about the dig for the Golden Garden a mile a minute. There’s no way I could even summarize what he said, but suffice it to say I am rather jealous. They have not found anything conclusive yet, but he remains hopeful.

Also, I’m looking into getting a car; now that I have a well-paying job , I’m finally able to afford one. I have my eye on a lovely little red Citroën 2CV. Its roof is even tall enough for my top hat!


	45. 13th January, 1958

Dear Diary,

This has never been a daily diary, I’ll admit that. Uni has been back in for two weeks after Christmas break and it’s not that life as a professor is monotonous, per se, but there is just not much to write down at the end of most days.

I am rather alone now. As an introvert, I don’t mind solitude… but I’m not a hermit, after all. Since my dearest friends now gone (some in different ways than others), I should probably linger in the professors’ break room longer and chitchat with my colleagues more often; I am thankful for Schrader’s friendship, of course, but it’d be nice to have some friends my age. As Harvard University’s James B. Conant was known to say, “Behold the turtle. He makes progress only when he sticks his neck out.” Well, alright. Here goes:

Ssssttttrrrrretch. Ow, I think I pulled something. This is what happens when I try to stick my neck out and be social.

Hmm… what to write about? Weather: cloudy and drizzling… local sports teams’ recent accomplishments: no idea… politics: there might be a new prime minister soon… insert other intriguing small talk topics here… 

Since the Tritons won’t be able to visit for my birthday, they called a few days ago and said that my gift was in the mail. It came in today: a box of local Misthallery tea. A bit too sweet for my taste, but if I don’t steep it too long, it helps.

Ah, and before I forget (how could I, though?!) may I introduce my first ever car! Isn’t she a doll?

I finally finished with all the paperwork and brought her home last week. A few of my students saw me driving her around campus and have dubbed her the Laytonmobile; the name has thoroughly stuck. And yes, I know she’s ancient, but she runs like a dream and I know just enough about mechanics to be dangerous, so I ought to be able to take care of her just fine.


	46. 22nd January, 1958

Dear Diary,

I visited Claire’s grave early this morning; that’s something worth journaling, at least. I was surprised at how cold my head gets when I am outside without my hat on. I don’t really want to continue on this subject and I don’t have much else to write about, so I’ll just end this entry here and head on to the university.


	47. 3rd March, 1958

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to add another chapter, so this is not the final one, after all! :)

I want to visit the Tritons soon, as I haven’t even seen them since June. And truthfully, seven months seems like such a long time. I think Clark would have confronted me if I am clingy, as he is quite honest about those kinds of things. But they are some of the best friends I have ever had, so I have good reason to miss their presence, don’t I? Even so, I don’t want to intrude on their new life. I’m sure we’ll figure out a time to see each other again soon.

I’m also assuming that there has been no lead on the Golden Garden, or any other discovery, for that matter; otherwise, I would certainly hope Clark would have told me something like that.


	48. 15th October, 1964

Dear Diary, 

Long time no see, eh? Sorry about that. I don't really have an excuse for not writing other than sheer forgetfulness. 

Recently, I’ve been lending a hand at Scotland Yard. I’ve been acquainted with one of the inspectors, Clamp Grosky, since my postgraduate days; as a young officer, he had looked into a few minor disputes at Gressenheller and I would occasionally run into him on campus. Somehow, he heard about my analytical and deductive skills. I completely neglected to write about this earlier, but back in July, he asked me to have a look at a crime scene, just to have a fresh perspective and I had been able to make some connections between seemingly unrelated evidence. Ever since, he’s called me over to Scotland Yard six more times. I’m not clear on what I _am_ exactly; I’m definitely not calling myself a “private eye” or anything like that, more of a civilian helping out where needed.

This is rather embarrassing, but three of these cases have gotten in the way of my lecture schedule; I even had to skip two departmental meetings. Dean Delmona and I are on good terms, as always, but I mustn’t take advantage of that. I really need to work on getting more organized…

I have considered befriending Grosky, maybe spending time with him off duty, but he’s a bit… intense to be around. Otherwise, I’ve gotten to know my office neighbor, Steven Mahoney, quite well; he’s a bit more my speed! 

I had better clean up some of my books lying around the office; a few weeks ago, Rosa threatened to bin them if I kept leaving them out. It’ll probably be an all-nighter tonight for me tonight. I still have midterm papers to mark, but I’ve been engrossed in reading about the Pyrgi Tablets that were discovered recently on the Tyrrhenian coast of Italy and it’s got me reading everything I can about the area’s history. So, if I fall asleep with a book on my face on my office couch tonight… don’t tell Rosa!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, the subsequent journal entries pick up with the beginning of Last Specter/Spectre's Call, which can be read [here](http://layton.wikia.com/wiki/The_Professor%27s_Journal_-_Last_Specter). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading; I've so appreciated your comments and kudos. This has been such a fun challenge to write!


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